Alister undid the locks on his door before heading out.
First, he slid the latch of the latch lock. Second, he used the key hidden under a plant pot—in which was a dead plant—to unlock the venting lock. Third, he moved the security bolt out of the way rather roughly—mostly due to grogginess. Fourth, he pushed the Baldwin security door guard off. Fifth, he fiddled with the chain door to get it off. Sixth, he keyed in his code into the digital lock. Seventh, he peeled off the key he always kept taped on the left side of his lower back to open the doorknob.
The liquor store was nearby, around two to four blocks, depending on which way one went. One of the reasons he chose to move here a few months ago despite it not being the best for safety.
The brief walk had very little of note, the concrete jungle being extremely quiet under the night sky. The walk was far from a tranquil one, as many picture walking at night. The stars weren't shining due to light pollution, and faded graffiti littered the area, none younger than a few months.
As Alister walked, he remembered a comment a while back that he walked ominously. Looking at his feet as he continued, Alister confirmed that there was nothing wrong with his walk. It was a bit slow; however, he didn't understand the reason for his peer's comment.
Finally arriving at the liquor store, Alister took a peek inside before entering. In one of the aisles, a middle-aged woman perused her options, yet something told Alister that she wasn't going to buy today. The cashier was a rather zoned-out boy, with an AirPod in and his cellphone held sideways in his hand as he violently hit parts of it in some sort of rhythm.
Nodding to himself before entering, Alister felt glad that nothing had happened to the liquor store. Heading to the first shelf that he could find, Alister scanned the prices before grabbing three of the most expensive bottles and heading to the register.
As silent as a ghost, Alister headed up the cash register. Upon seeing the cashier's lack of response, Alister politely cleared his throat, only to still lack a reaction. Sighing, Alister picked up the bottles and placed them rather loudly in the clear line of sight of the cashier.
Finally, the cashier seemed to realize that there was a customer. Quickly registering the bottles, he absentmindedly repeated his lines, "The total is six-fifty, do you want a receipt?"
"No."
At that point, the cashier seemed to pause before he looked up. 'There is no way in hell this boy is twenty-one.' The good part of him wanted to ask the boy for his ID, yet the greater part knew that one of the reasons he got this job was that he was young enough to have younger customers be comfortable. Seventeen was his bottom line, and this boy didn't seem to be that young, so he continued registering the boy.
As he wrapped up, the cashier quickly bagged the tequila in a black bag before going to hand it to the boy. Before he could, there was the loud noise of a gunshot, "everybody on the ground now!"
Alister glanced at the robber who had just entered the store in chagrin. This wasn't some kind of bank robbery; the robber just had to go to the register and grab some money before leaving. Why kick up the fuss?
The robber seemed to be intent on wasting time for the cops to arrive—as there was inevitably a call due to the gunshot—and waved his gun while shouting "Away from the door!" Shortly followed by the deadly weapon being fixed on the cashier, and "Open the register and fill the bag!"
The cashier compliantly filled the bag in question—a plain black duffel bag—while filled with fear. By this point, Alister and the middle-aged woman were standing near a shelf complacent with the robber's wishes.
As the duffel bag was handed back to the robber, the affair sadly did not end. "What the fuck is this shit! Where is the money!" The robber cried, feeling the light bag. Alister exercised the two brain cells the robber clearly didn't have; most people paid through card, not cash. Granted, a good portion did, as records of buying liquor weren't very welcome; however, most weren't paranoid or cared enough to do so.
Soon, a similar—albeit less nuanced—came from the cashier. Mostly just that "no one pays with cash anymore, dude," yet worded much more kindly due to his terror.
After witnessing the robber go to the shelf and begin to grab expensive liquor frantically, Alister gave up hope of the robbery being quick. Mentally tired of the length he goes to for alcohol, Alister smoothly picked up a bottle before making his way behind the robber. At the last moment, the robber began to turn around, making some sort of exclamation. Luckily, Alister's ears weren't assaulted by amateur hour as he struck with the bottle of liquor before the robber even properly grabbed his gun—something he set down to grab more liquor.
For the second time today, something surrounding the robber triggered his chagrin. This time, it was the bottle, which had shattered under the force of the robber's movement and Alister's own hit. Taking a glance, Alister realized that it would at most be a lot of stitches and nothing more than cosmetic damage.
Swiftly, Alister took flight back home. His feet were practically gliding across the ground while he looked as casual as possible. Silently, he cursed his choice of going to the far liquor store, sadly it was too late for regrets.
Faintly, Alister heard the sound of a cop siren. In the back of his head, he couldn't help but lament that while it was much quicker than when he first arrived here, it was for this of all things. He pulled his liquor bag in against his black hoodie to conceal it better before pulling the hood up a bit. Silently, he wished that the cops would not make the association of the bag with where they were called to if they were driving by.
For a moment, Alister held his breath as the cop car sped by. Luckily, the cops were too preoccupied with the call to notice him, a nice change of pace from the usual police attention he received.
Heading back to his apartment, Alister only let out a sigh of relief when he completely locked the door. After relaxing for a moment, Alister sighed once more, moving himself to his bedroom and opening the hidden compartment of his desk to place the liquor next to the pistol he kept for self-defense. Only after he did that did he allow himself to collapse in bed, giving himself a safe breadth of thirty minutes before cracking open the alcohol.
Fifteen minutes later, and what Alister had anticipated occurred. There was a knock on his door, particularly three raps followed by two more heavy hits as if to an invisible song.
Pulling himself up once more, Alister stole a glance at the desk before heading to the door.
After verifying through a peephole that it was indeed a police officer who was outside, Alister inwardly cursed his luck before unlocking each of the locks on his door.
"Dick," Alister greeted the jolly middle-aged officer dryly.
"Hey, Starry," Richard responded with his usual borderline fatherly smile, "we got a call from a local liquor store and were wondering if you knew anything?"
Starry felt the gears in his head, which had nearly frozen over time, once more turn. Quickly, he arrived at his answer, "Yeah, a robber just came in while I was buying some gum, so I just dealt with it before heading home." There was no way in hell the cop would believe that his beloved child, Starry, wouldn't be at the scene of any crime within a district radius, and he knew for a fact that they knew he bought something. There was no way an infamous homebody like him headed out without a purpose. Alister was stuck with a sense of melancholy as he thought of how the precinct probably knew him better than anyone else in the world.
"Yeah," Richard commented with a drawl in his voice, "mind if I come in?" Already having begun to make his entrance before Alister responded.
For a brief moment, Alister considered stopping him and asking for a warrant; sadly, they both knew that the whole precinct had one. He remembered Drew joking one time that it was the first thing they got their newbies due to how often they ended up at his apartment.
Stepping aside, for the first time in a while, Alister had to fake friendliness to the police. An odd experience considering how often he put on plays with them rather than to them.
A moment after entering, Richard paused, "You removed the deadbelt?"
Alister looked to the door rather absentmindedly before commenting offhand, "Yeah, it just broke, and I couldn't be bugged to fix it."
Walking behind the officer as he continued in, Alister noticed him conducting a rather routine search. Figuring that he had some time to kill, Alister began to unwrap some pre-made mac and cheese to put into the microwave. "Want something to eat?" Alister asked as the officer made his way through the drawers.
"Nah, Sal is preparing some meatloaf tonight," Richard practically taunted. For a moment, Alister could have sworn that Dick was going to invite him over. Ultimately, he didn't, something that was better for both of them.
By the time Alister finished, he noticed that Dick had finished his sweep of the apartment. Getting up to see him out, Alister was a bit puzzled when he saw Dick's conflicted expression.
"You good?" Alister asked as he examined the officer. Shortly after, he heard a curse muttered under the officer's breath before the officer went straight towards the desk.
Feeling a chill down his spine, Alister quickly saw the officer open the third drawer from the bottom and pull it out. Reaching into the small hole in the wall behind the drawer, Richard pulled out the liquors one by one, setting them down on the top of the desk.
Staring at Richard, looking absentmindedly at the bottles, Alister felt a pathetic feeling worm up inside. "Please, just this once, please," he pleaded sincerely, holding eye contact with Richard as he turned his head around. If getting on his hands and knees would help, Alister would have in a heartbeat, yet Richard would only feel the need to do more than. So he simply pleaded as honestly as he could—begged.
Richard looked at Alister rather hollowly, understandingly, before ultimately shaking his head.
"I'm not going to charge you Al, but please see someone," Richard said rather melancholically before making his way out of the apartment quietly.
For a while, Alister simply stood there before robotically going to the door. Taking a peek outside, he saw the cop car with no intention of moving, dashing any hope he had. Rather angrily, he locked each part of the door.
For a moment, he just stared at the door. Some part of him wanted to scream out, hit it, vent his frustrations. Maybe the him of a year ago would have, however, he was a year older than that. A year more experienced than that. A year more tired than that version of him.
In the end, Alister just made his way to the bed. Richard thought he understood, yet he didn't know shit. Richard chose a life surrounded by mayhem and crime; Alister was just born into one. Just drew the short end of the stick when God made his accursed plan.
No one would ever understand him. This was something simple that he took way too long to learn. By the time he started to process any trauma, a new one would appear. Therapy only works when the issues pass, when there is someone who doesn't regularly have a mental break and go psycho nearby during each session. When the therapists don't become scared of you and stop trying to treat you.
Staring at his ceiling, Alister looked at the photos, his memories of her. The only thing that still had color in this world. Yet no matter how deep he dug, he only caught the ashes of the emotions that once burned him to the point of pain. The sharp emerald eyes looked less like finely cut emeralds and more like dull, reminiscent of that one poisoned dagger he once saw. The hint of blue he always swore was in her hair was nowhere to be found, being a black that looked lovely to play with, yet ultimately dead inside. Every faucet that he loved turned into something pleasant but ordinary.
He needed a drink.